


Five Grown Men And The Bottle That Spins

by Imitari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Author's headcanon, Kissing game, M/M, Multi, Utter Nonsense, maker forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imitari/pseuds/Imitari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian suggests a kissing game.  So it goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Grown Men And The Bottle That Spins

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a written sketch than a story. Sorry. Also, Cullen has been a favorite of mine from the beginning, when I first played Origins. I ached for him. I was delighted to see him again in Dragon Age II and even happier to see him in Inquisition. How he's grown. So proud. I wanted my Warden to have a chance to see Cullen again and I started writing. This half-arsed rubbish is the result.

"I couldn't let you have all the fun," teases the king, "Besides, this little Inquisition has set up camp within my borders.  I wanted to have a look."

"Galavant about the countryside more like it," retorts Cousland fondly.  The men share a smile, their faces softening for only a moment before they look away, back to their audience.  Dorian's eyebrow rises into an improbable arch. The Inquisitor frowns in confusion.  Cullen sighs.

"Let's play a game," suggests Dorian and Alistair chimes in, "Yes! Let's."

"The kissing game," continues Dorian, his smile growing sharp. Trevelyan stares at him in surprise while Cullen suffers from a sudden onset of coughs. Alistair's face goes sour. Cousland tilts his head, "Are you serious?"

"Why not?" purrs Dorian.  He holds up a recently emptied bottle of wine, "It could prove ... illuminating."

"More like an excuse to be naughty," says Maxwell with a sigh.  Dorian takes on an affronted look, "Perish the thought! Though, tell me truly, havent you ever wanted to kiss a king?"

"Not really," grumbles Alistair.  Beside him, Cousland chuckles, "I'll play. But if no one else plays, we won't need the bottle."

"This is why you are not allowed to drink!" exclaims the king, "In fact, you've had nothing but water!"

"Are you jealous, my lord?"

Alistair glares at his fellow Warden.

"I'll play," offers Cullen, stunning everyone in the room.  He shrugs when everyone turns to stare but the motion does nothing to hide the pinkness of his cheeks. Dorian claps his hands together, "Excellent! Maxwell? Your majesty?"

"If you insist," sighs the Inquisitor.  Alistair gapes at them, "One bottle of wine and this is how it ends? Five grown men playing the kissing game?"

"Afraid you'll lose?" teases Cousland, knocking his shoulder against the king's, earning himself another glare and then a sigh.  

"Fine."

"A promise, first," says Dorian, moving from his chair to the floor where he places the empty bottle on its side, "That what happens here will not leave this room."

"Unless Leliana has posted spies," mutters Cullen.  Cousland laughs, "That does sound like her."

"I think his majesty should go first," suggests Dorian, "The advantage of royal blood."

"Andraste's tits," swears Alistair as he spins the bottle, "If we're doing this, have the decency to call me by my name."

The bottle selects Cousland, who laughs so hard he falls over, while Alistair stares up at the ceiling to silently plead 'why?'  

"Don't pretend...," gasps Cousland between chuckles, "You aren't pleased.  They've already figured ..."

The king interrupts his friend with two hands about his face and a full kiss on his lips.  Cousland smiles as he caresses Alistair's cheek, their lips moving in obvious familiarity.  They don't part for a full minute and at the end they share a gaze full of fondness.  Cullen coughs and rubs his neck while Maxwell grins, "I think you've made your point, Dorian."

"Far from it, amatus," replies the mage, "It's Cousland's turn."

"Aedan," says the Warden-Commander, spinning the bottle, "Seeing as you've permission to use Alistair's name."

He and Maxwell share a quick kiss and grin.  Maxwell and Cullen trade small pecks, soft enough to be hardly heard, and Cullen ends up embracing the king on the cheek as both ex-Templars blush an alarming shade of red.  Maxwell nudges Dorian with an elbow, "Feeling left out?" As he says it, the bottle turns on the mage and Dorian crawls across the open space towards Alistair.

"Oh, hardly," he whispers and then treats the King of Fereldan with a kiss that is more tongue than lip.  Cousland snorts at the sight, "I thought Alistair had to kiss him?"

"Dorian isn't much for waiting," remarks Maxwell, his eyes only for the Tevinter.  Alistair makes a noise of protest when Dorian pulls away with an obnoxious 'pop.'  Everyone laughs, even as Alistair hides his face in Cousland's neck.

"There, there, my dear," Cousland pats his lover on the thigh, "Will you survive?"

"Maker's balls," breathes Alistair, "I need a drink."

Dorian, smug as only a grown bratling can be, spins next and shares a kiss with Cullen that is as much a mouthful as the one he bestowed upon Alistair.  He returns to his spot, practically preening, leaving Cullen looking dazed.

"Your turn, amatus," purrs the mage.  Cullen shudders but spins the bottle and it lands on Cousland.

"No tongue," warns Alistair as the pair lean towards each other.  Cousland grins, a filthy flash of teeth, towards his lover before giving Cullen a brief kiss on his lips.  Before Cullen can pull away, Cousland takes his head in his hands and pulls him closer, whispering for a moment into the Commander's ear, then pulling back to place another chaste kiss to the man's forehead.  Cullen nods, looking stunned, bringing up a hand to touch Cousland's wrist.  He searches Cousland's face, uncertainty growing into something like gratitude before he leans in to kiss the Warden again, this one more languorous and gentle. Maxwell and Dorian share a glance before looking to the king in confusion.  Alistair sighs, "Don't ask me."

As they watch, the pair begin to fall to the floor, their kiss deepening and lengthening, hands holding each other tight.  It isn't until Alistair coughs, loudly, that they break away, sweaty and mussed.  

The group disbands after that, Cousland and Alistair heading out into the balustrade, the king's hand planted firmly on Cousland's ass.

/

"What was that about?" queries Dorian, running his hands down Cullen's arms, "What did he say?"

"It's ... I can't say," replies Cullen sadly.  Maxwell frowns, "If he said something wrong ..."

"No," Cullen says quickly, "It ... I ..." He sighs, "I never told you what happened.  At the Circle."

"At the Circle?" Asks Dorian, confused.  Maxwell stiffens, "You don't have to."

"But I should," replies Cullen as he moves away from them, "You should know."

"If this has to do with your nightmares..." begins Dorian but Cullen cuts him off, "Yes.  And no."

"What does that have to do with kissing Cousland ... Oh," Maxwell groans in realization, "Oh, Maker.  They were there, weren't they?"

"Yes," Cullen rubs his neck, "They found me w-with the others.  The ones who didn't survive."

"So what did he say, then?" presses Dorian, moving closer to Cullen, his face edged with concern, "What happened?"

Cullen gifts him with a small smile, "That's two questions, Dorian.  Which am I to answer first?"

"Don't be smart with me," mutters the mage as he wraps his arms around himself.  Maxwell runs a hand down Dorian's back and reaches out for Cullen. "It's alright," he soothes, "Don't fight."

Cullen twines his hand with Maxwell's and allows himself to be tugged closer. They trade a triad of small kisses, the Commander and the Tevinter each held in an arm of the Inquisitor.  Cullen takes a deep breath and looks out the near window, "When the maleficarum overran the Circle, they caged the Templars.  Tortured them. Us.  I - I am not certain how long they held us there.  It was ... terrible.  The t-things they t-taunted us with, digging into our minds."

Dorian makes a small noise of pain, wriggling closer to Maxwell, hiding himself in their embrace.  Cullen lays one hand on Dorian's shoulder, "I hated mages for a long time after that.  My anger ... made me someone I do not like to remember.  It blinded me to many things."  He lapses into silence, trying to find the words.

"And Cousland found you," interjects Maxwell.  Cullen nods, "He and his party.  The king was there, too, I think, though my memory may be faulty and he was certainly not the king then.  We spoke. They freed the tower, did what I was unable to do.  Cousland was only ...  He said that he had been worried about me, all these years, wondering about the Templer who survived.  He said he was glad that I had ... not allowed it to ruin me.  He said he was proud and that ... he loved me."

"As I love you," says Maxwell, tightening his hold about Cullen's waist, unable to say more.  Dorian trembles beside them, quiet and withdrawn.

"What is it, amatus?" begs Cullen, the endearment awkward on his Fereldan tongue, "Why are you so quiet?"

Dorian shakes his head then perks, as if changing masks.

"I'm for bed," he declares, "It's been a long day."


End file.
